


Roses and Thorns

by Truely_Trean



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 02:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8427973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Truely_Trean/pseuds/Truely_Trean
Summary: This is a Klance Posh/ Cartel/Gang AU. Follow Lance and Keith as they learn what it means to be part of a cartel.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy! This is right now a concept draft. Soon i hope to get chapter 1 out. My twitter is @TruelyTrean if you wanna chat :3. Updates will be infrequent so you may want to bookmark it lol.

Roses and thorns. That described what it was like to me a McClain.  
Lance rolled in bed. He stared at the ceiling, gazing at the implacable wall colors with the perfect sky rise. The night sky streamed through the skylight, casting shadows onto his floor and walls.  
A McClain. Murderers, killers, people who ruin lives.  
The soft light danced across the walls, lighting up trophies and plaques. Awards for competitions Lance had won. Things he had done to fit in with the cartel; to prove he was a valuable son.  
He had told his father he was gay. His father didn’t even care, simply adjusting the person who Lance would marry. To him, Lance was just a pawn; a pawn to be carefully placed and manipulated. His father had ideas for him; he made sure Lance knew who was in charge.  
A man draped an arm across Lance, pulling him close. Whatever number this was, Lance didn’t know. Someone else in a sea of people that had given pleasure to him. Maybe that was one of the few perks of being a McClain; everyone fell under his feet.  
Lance turned and stared at him. Of course, he was handsome and beautiful. He had soft, dark brown hair. Impeccably styled stubble and perfect skin. Everything was toned and tanned.  
Yet again Lance hadn’t even tried. In the beginning, he had flirted with them; teasing and laughing with them in the night. He would buy them drinks and get to know them.  
Now he just took. All he had to do was simply stare at one and smile. They would find their way over to him and one thing would lead to the next. Lance knew he was cute, but he wasn’t that sort of cute. He wasn’t the kind of cute that, with a simple look, made them fall in love.  
He stared through the skylight at the moons. The white stars stared down at him. The sky seemed to painted with swatches of purple and indigo. Perhaps, if Lance had been a painter, he would have painted a picture of it.  
The only sound came from the hum of the McClain mansion. Life went on at all hours of the night. Whether it was good or bad, Lance didn’t care. The digital clock showed it was three in the morning. In Lance’s opinion, this was the witching hour; a time from which arose nothing good..  
He rose from the bed, leaving the man in the bed alone. The sheets softly fell to the floor. The man murmured something in his sleep.  
Lance opened his closet and flicked on the light. He began to search through the closet for something to wear. He grabbed a pair of jeans, low cut t shirt, slip ons and a jacket. He hedged between a purple or blue jacket; he grabbed the blue.  
Lance slid on the jeans and buttoned them. He tugged on the shirt, and put on the blue jacket. He fitted his cap so it covered all of his bed hair. He slipped his shoes over his feet, tying the laces tightly.  
Lance stared at the mirror. Everyone told him he was beautiful, with his high cheekbones, and flawless, soft brown skin. But all he saw in the mirror was a cold hearted monster.  
They would say his eyes were a beautiful shade of blue;that their hue was like a painting of the sky, painted by a master artist. When Lance looked at them, he saw the sea, a crushing void willing to destroy anything that got in his way.  
He looked away. Soft footsteps reached his ear. Lance reached into his closet and pulled out a small switchblade he kept stored in there. Silently, he flicked the blade out. He heard the person walk into the closet. Lance charged, aiming his knife for the man's chest.  
“Lance!” It was the man he had slept with.  
Lance tried to stop, but slammed into the man in spite of himself. The two tumbled to the ground, the knife slipping from Lance’s hand.  
The large man was pinned under Lance. He smirked and Lance felt something poking his chest.  
“Kinky. I’m not a huge fan of bondage, but this may make an exception. Just no sharp things, please,” the man murmured.  
Lance stood up and grabbed the knife, staying silent. He folded the switchblade and tossed it back into the closet. Silently, he walked out of the room.  
“Did I say something?” the man called.  
Lance paused at the door. He turned showing the man the McClain family gaze.  
“I would recommend you leave. I would hate for my father to find you, considering that I’m supposed to be married soon.” Lance watched as all color drained from the man’s face.  
Lance left silently and ghosted through the house. It was loud even at this late hour. He could hear people chatting in different conference rooms. As he passed his brother’s room, he heard the telltale sound of things married men shouldn't be doing.  
Lance heard the cacophony of people mingling in the foyer. His father would undoubtedly be there, still hoping to keep the party going. Alcohol and a variety of recreational activities would continue long into the early morning.  
Lance had attended these events ever since he was old enough. They were mixers, ragers, and parties for his father. Some days, they were for important causes for people who supported the cartel. Other times, he would simply host large house parties for any rich person to attend. Recently, he had been holding even more; the cartel had been doing better in recent months. And with Lance’s marriage to Takashi, the organization would have even more support.  
Lance had been at one of these events earlier tonight. He had picked up some bad habits at events such as these; habits that would have to be broken after his marriage. Lance wound through the twisting maze of corridors that were the house. He stopped at a small nondescript door that would take him to the garden in the back. No one ever used the garden this late at night.  
He snuck outside. Slowly, he made his way through the garden path to the front.  
Impeccably trimmed hedges acted like mazes; these were paths Lance had memorized years ago.  
His father wouldn't be happy with Lance. If he caught Lance driving at night, he would get in trouble. He was already close enough to locking Lance in his room, holding him captive until the time came that he was to leave for Africa to live with Takashi.  
Part of Lance simply wanted to spend his life destroying his father's empire. To burn the house to the ground. To go to the cops and tell them all about his father's exploits. To kill Takashi the second he arrived in Africa.  
He wouldn't though. He was a smart; he knew that his father would end him if he didn’t placidly follow along. His father would hunt him down to slowly torture him. To make Lance regret ever crossing him; to regret what he was; to regret the fact that he was a twink.  
Lance slipped through the garden to the garage. He didn’t want to take too fancy of a car, so he grabbed the keys to the Panamera.  
The garage had a few SUV’s; a Mustang, a Ferrari, and the Panamera. All of his dad's really fancy cars were stored off site, only used for racing or when he needed to make a show of just how wealthy he really was.  
Lance unlocked the car and slid inside. As always, it was perfectly clean and smelled pleasant. The servants always came and cleaned the inside; removing any food, restocking water in the two front cups, emptying the glove compartment, placing a scented charm in the front, etc.  
Lance pressed a button and the garage door opened. He turned the keys in the ignition and felt the car come to life. The beautiful piece of machinery purred, and Lance led it out of the garage.  
He gunned it down the asphalt, racing down the driveway. The car roared under his fingertips; he knew his father would hear, but on the road, Lance didn’t care.  
The gate had been left open for guests so Lance shot out of it without interruption, driving along the highway. He raced his car over the road, overlooking the sea.  
The way the soft moonlight faded over sea was beautiful. The way the waves would ripple; the moonlight ever so slightly catching them, illuminating the blue. The sand looked ghostly pale in the night, the rocks glowing as the light cast deep and dark shadows over them.  
Lance would miss this. He would miss the few friends he did have, the moonlight, the beautiful scenery, and the secret freedom he found when sneaking out.  
He wouldn’t miss the parties, or the foul lust of the people here. And of all the things he would be glad to be rid of, the house was at the top of the list.  
The house. A symbol of everything Lance’s father had worked for. A symbol of their status, of their wealth. A symbol that Lance could never have a normal life. A symbol that everything he had, everything he did, was controlled by his father.  
He couldn’t do anything on his own. Lance was drowning, feeling the thorns prick his skin. What was wrong with him? Something had to be. But he couldn't figure out what it was.  
The car shot down through the streets; Lance expertly curving around the slopes of the highway. He increased his speed, shooting down the streets. He knew everyone would hear the car, the roar of the machine barreling towards the town. He needed to make some noise; he needed someone to see that he was alive.  
Lance made a hairpin turn, shooting away towards a small town. Tonight, he would break a few rules; maybe for the last time.  
The still of the night was broken as a muscle car shot past him. It was a red convertible; if Lance had to guess, a Ferrari.  
A drag race; Lance was down for that. He slammed his foot on the gas and tore after the car.  
Whoever was driving was good. They were able to pull tight turns and keep Lance from passing them.  
A series of curves down a mountain were coming up. Whoever drifted these better would have the lead. Lance pushed his foot to the floor.  
The first turn came up and Lance threw his car into a tight turn. The other car followed suit, drifting perfectly along the inside of the turn. They shot down the road, getting an edge already.  
This happened again and again; the car’s driver defying perfect logic and landing turns so perfect that they would put Lance's father's racing skills to shame. Unfortunately, the other car was beginning to slip, drifting a bit more than necessary. Their tires were not built for this kind of racing.  
Lance had one chance on the second to last turn. The other driver went in early; Lance shot forward. He grabbed the clutch, yanking it back he felt his car screech. It rotated along its front right wheel, lining up perfectly to give Lance the ability to shoot past. Lance slammed down on the clutch and shot forward.  
The other driver couldn’t compete at that point. The two turned along the last point, Lance in the lead.  
The two raced through town straight down the main street. Lance cackled; everyone in the entire neighborhood would be woken up by these two, driving cars that they could only dream of buying. It was cruel and cold; something Lance found beautiful.  
The two reached the outskirts of town. Lance slowed down and parked; the other driver did as well.  
Lance got out of the car and stretched, throwing the other driver a smirk.  
“Nice driving. Sorry you had the wrong car,” Lance called.  
The car had a small handgun in the glove compartment. Lance had grabbed it, sliding it into his jacket pocket in case this escalated.  
The other driver got out of the car. Lance let out a whistle; the man was hot. He was a bit taller than Lance, dark brown eyes filled with interest.  
“Already admitting you're into guys. Risky, but that sort of puts things in perspective for me,” the man said.  
“Mullets aren’t really a fashion for rich kids. What are you?” Lance questioned.  
“Dead on. I’m dirt poor. This bad boy,” he gestured at his car, “is my boss's car. I was on my way to return it to him when I spotted someone who seemed to want to drag race.”  
“Too bad you couldn't beat him. Your boss would probably be happy to know you beat some punk.”  
“A cute punk,” the man smiled slyly.  
Lance feigned a hand over his heart.  
“Does that line work with all the gay gangsters?” Lance smirked  
“More into the pretty boy,” he replied.  
“I’m flattered. You ain’t getting my number that easily.”  
“Who said I wanted it?” the man opened the car door.  
“Wow! I’m flattered. What's your name, so I can fawn over a sexy hunk who is an absolute asshole.”  
“We’ll meet again soon. I feel it,” the man replied.  
He got in the car and drove away, racing down the road. Lance felt the rush of the wind and smiled.  
Δ

“Tonight’s party is a masquerade ball,” Niall said.  
Lance had driven around the coast most of the morning. In the afternoon he had returned home parking the car in the garage. He had expected a servant to tell him that his father wanted him up in his lounge, but they had done nothing more than inform him that Niall - his stylist - was waiting for him in his room.  
“Oh.” Lance wasn’t really paying attention.  
This party had a theme. Whenever the party had a theme, it was important. Something was probably going to go down tonight.  
“Takashi is supposed to be here tonight,” he continued.  
Lance made a choking noise and slumped into his chair.  
“Oh shush, he’s cute!”  
Lance sighed.“If you're into people who are only interested in you for two reasons,” he returned.  
Niall sighed and grabbed a few suits,“He's better than any of the others.”  
“True, because all the others weren’t gay.”  
Niall huffed and showed Lance two suits. Lance pointed at the one on the right, and Niall scurried back over to the wardrobe.  
“Please at least pretend for my sake,” Niall smiled at him.  
“Fineeee.” Lance dragged out the E for dramatic effect.  
“I know for sure you’ll have fun tonight. Just trust me.”


End file.
